


Waves Of Gray

by Lucigoosey_The_Lightbringer



Series: And They Were Roommates [7]
Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety Attacks, Anxiety Disorder, Drug Withdrawal, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Malcolm Bright Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Malcolm Bright Needs a Hug, Martin Whitly Needs a Hug, Medicine Withdrawal?, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, kind of?, whatever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 06:27:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29414106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucigoosey_The_Lightbringer/pseuds/Lucigoosey_The_Lightbringer
Summary: "My," Martin started and stopped, blinking again. He looked at Malcolm for a moment, just stared as if seeing him for the first time, and he realized quickly that the man wasn't… there.
Relationships: Malcolm Bright & Martin Whitly, Malcolm Bright & Sunshine the Bird
Series: And They Were Roommates [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2147352
Comments: 8
Kudos: 42





	Waves Of Gray

In the morning, Malcolm was up and on his feet before Martin even stirred from the couch.

He went about his routine as normal for the most part. He fed Sunshine first, letting her out of her cage so she could eat on the counter. Then he showered, took a few bites of licorice, and took it upon himself to tidy up his apartment a little more. He'd already picked up the clothes and it seemed like Martin had done the dishes before Malcolm had even got there, but there were a few other things - candy wrappers, just basically little pieces of trash - he picked up. He wasn't sure where the sudden motivation to do so came from. He wasn't sure why his father's sudden appearance felt like a weight off his shoulders and yet managed to crush him at the same time. Maybe it was the fact that he wasn't waiting for something to happen now. The relief that came with knowing, for sure, where his father was. The relief that came with _something_ changing, some kind of development, because even this was better than the panic he'd been stuck in.

He was sitting at the counter, facing toward the couch and TV (because he still didn't feel safe enough to turn his back on his father, not yet), and about to take his meds when Martin woke. Or rather when Martin startled awake with a gasp, ripped from a nightmare and slammed into reality as harshly as Malcolm usually was in the mornings. Watching him wake like that pinched up a rush of anxiety, confusion and sympathy in his gut that Malcolm couldn't quite shake.

Still, he said nothing, letting his father get his bearings. Martin was quick to relax, although Malcolm didn't miss the discomfort written across his face when he pulled himself to sit up.

"Morning," Malcolm decided to announce himself after a moment, "sleep well?"

Martin inhaled sharply at first, seeming startled by his presence, shooting him a glare that was seemingly more reflexive than anything - before suddenly realizing where he was all at once, and who exactly was talking to him, and Malcolm couldn't stifle a flicker of amusement at the brief alarm that flashed across his father's face before it immediately fizzled out into guilt. "Ah… morning, Malcolm." He heaved himself off the couch, looking surprisingly unsteady on his feet, and stretched his arms over his head with a wince. "Like a baby," he replied to his question gruffly after a moment, scratching at his beard, before simply making his way to the bathroom.

… huh.

Malcolm looked after him curiously for a moment, watching the door shut behind him, then exchanged a look with Sunshine as his baby bird hopped over to settle down beside his hands on the counter with a quick chirp. "Well, now we know the Surgeon isn't a morning person."

He found himself counting out his pills like his father had suggested the night before, only taking two now and tucking the other bottles away to take them later, spread out as Martin had said. He wasn't entirely sure if it was going to help, but if it didn't, there really wasn't much harm done. Aside from the anxiety meds, he thought, none of what he was taking really helped anyway - and even saying the anxiety medication worked was a bit of a stretch, considering his entire existence in itself was just one big anxiety attack. So there was no harm in trying.

"If you wanna write that list now, you should," Malcolm started when Martin left the bathroom, barely glancing up at his father before redirecting his gaze to his phone. "I'll go shopping now."

Martin didn't respond immediately.

After about a minute or so with no response, Malcolm stopped texting, a cold feeling creeping down his spine and making his body tingle, fingers and toes going numb abruptly, and flicked his gaze up from his phone, trying to figure out if what he was feeling was fear or concern or both. It only further intensified when he saw Martin just standing there, a frighteningly blank look on his face as he stared at the floor, completely unresponsive and unmoving like a statue.

"Dr. Whitly?" Malcolm called out after a moment, hesitant, tentative.

Martin blinked, coming back to himself all at once, and shook his head. "Uh… list, yes. Right."

Malcolm put his phone down - he'd already given out confirmation that he was safe, and considering he knew Martin wasn't a threat to Gil, Jessica or Ainsley right then, he didn't need to wait for it back - and turned his full attention to his father, looking him over slowly. "You okay?"

"My," Martin started and stopped, blinking again. He looked at Malcolm for a moment, just stared as if seeing him for the first time, and he realized quickly that the man wasn't… _there_.

Not _all_ there.

He would have felt alarm if he wasn't so concerned, and confused. Even off his meds, he didn't think Martin should be acting like _this_. He shouldn't be on the _intense_ stuff, after all. He was psychotic for sure, but not scratching-the-walls-and-banging-his-head-against-the-door psychotic. He was dangerous, but not _psycho_ dangerous. He couldn't see a reason for them to put him on suppressants or mood stabilizers - and honestly, now that he was really thinking about it, he couldn't see a reason for them to have him on medications at all. There wasn't a pill to fix what was wrong with him. But this, this was a man who was off his meds. This was a man who was stuck between 'out of it' and 'coming back into it' and Malcolm wasn't sure what to do.

He didn't think leaving Martin alone was a good idea, now.

"Malcolm?" The sound of his father's voice, pinched with confusion and worry, irked him.

"I'm right here." He surprised himself with a rush of compassion, pushing himself up and walking around the counter to approach his father. Martin stood still, just staring at him, an almost frightened expression on his face. Malcolm was beyond baffled right then. "Are you okay?"

"I don't…" Martin blinked again, several times now, and shook his head.

Malcolm hesitated, searching his gaze. Clouded with confusion and terror like Malcolm had never seen from him before, looking into a familiar face but seeing the eyes of a stranger.

Concern overpowered every other sense, silenced the warning bells in his mind.

His hand still shook as he took Martin by the shoulder.

His father flinched at his touch, a spark of surprise lighting his gaze, expression shifting again as he fought against the fog in his mind. Malcolm understood. "Dr. Whitly, I need you to focus," he told him slowly, daring to step closer, and Martin shook his head again, frustrated now, _trying_ to.

"What's happening?"

_("What happened-?")_

"Nothing," Malcolm soothed. "Nothing. You're okay."

(He actually couldn't believe this was happening.)

The words seemed to soothe Martin, if only for a second. Malcolm managed to get him back to the couch, guiding him to sit down, and searched his gaze again. Pale blue, distant and clouded, waves of gray - no real recognition, no focus. His father was gone for the moment and Malcolm didn't think anything he did would bring him back - and he couldn't stifle the fear that wormed its way into his gut. All questions of what was going on and why this was happening and _what_ medicines, exactly, his father needed right then were going to have to wait a while.

"I'm going to get you some water," he mumbled, and pulled away.

Martin's hand snapped up to his wrist. Malcolm flinched, instinctively, sucking in a gasp although he knew - figured - _hoped_ \- his father wasn't a threat at that moment, and looked back down.

His father stared at him, suddenly clear, suddenly there.

Suddenly the man he was twenty years ago.

Suddenly, Malcolm couldn't breathe.

"I can't be here," Martin said slowly, certainly. "I can't be here. I have to go back."

Through the pounding of his heart, breath stolen from his lungs, Malcolm dared to ask why.

"Because of _him_ ," Martin insisted in a whisper, a hiss of breath, " _Endicott."_


End file.
